A small plus
by NairobiWonders
Summary: This is a sort of continuation of the "What Smitty Saw" stories. I swore I would never do a pregnancy story with these characters. It always seemed so OOC to imagine them as parents but cadencelili asked about it and started me thinking that perhaps with this lighter version of Sherlock and Joan it might work. A small ch. 8 is now up! Almost done.
1. Chapter 1

"Watson, I think you're pregnant."

She narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her head, "Gee, Sherlock, what was you're first clue?"

"Uhm, well, your water breaking for one..." He took her by the elbow and moved her over to one of the kitchen chairs. "Contractions?" For all his attempts to be flippant, she could see he was now in high stress mode: his breathing elevated, his eyes taking in every detail of her physical condition, his face taut.

"No, not yet but I'm sure they're on their way." She put her hand on her belly. "Trust your child to do things his own way."

Sherlock tried to suppress his first proud papa smile and put his hand on top of hers. "What say we start making our way to the hospital, hmm?" He failed in his attempt to sound nonchalant.

A little less than nine months prior:

She could barely keep her eyes open. Watson leaned her head against her hand and took another slow drink of the hot black tea hoping it would kick in soon. The kitchen table needed clearing but she would have to leave that for Ms Hudson or Sherlock. It was enough of an effort just to drink her tea.

Watson heard him way before she saw him. God bless the man's energy level. She wished she could get some by osmosis at this point. Sherlock strode into the kitchen, stopped suddenly beside her and theatrically placed a small rectangular box in front of her with a flourish. She looked at the box and raised her eyes to look at him.

"Are you trying to tell me something?"

He nervously bounced on the balls of his feet, "I think we may be pregnant. My hypothesis needs confirmation tho, hence the test." Joan could tell how anxious he was by his over the top hand gesture towards the box.

She had already considered the possibility. Joan had felt 'different' for a few days. But what tipped him off? "What makes you think I'm pregnant?" she tried to not sound defensive.

"Well ... for starters, we've been going at it like bunnies in heat for months now." His punctuated the statement with the flash of his eyes, a thin lipped smile and a bob of his head. "That, plus fatigue, altered mood and sleep patterns, and uhm, ... you smell slightly different, musky ... yet sweet ..." He looked almost embarrassed, his eyes swept her face and looked away quickly.

She couldn't help but smile at him as she reached for the box. Joan sat back in her chair turning the box over in her hands. Her mood turned serious, "What if I am, what do we do?"

Sherlock didn't hesitate with his answer, "It's your body Watson, it's your decision."

"Yes, but it will be our child, it's our decision." The weight of the words caught both of them by surprise "our child." Their eyes met and locked. The prospect was tremendously terrifying yet carried with it a bright sense of joy.

"Let's take the test," he all but whispered the words. Joan got up slowly from her chair and he put his arm around her waist for support.

"I should have known this would be your doing. I've felt like death warmed over for days now ..." she teased him as they made their way to the stairs. "I just don't know how this happened. We've been so careful ..."

"Even science has its limits Watson, and there was that one time in the supply closet ... Remember? When Smitty came looking for paper towels?"

Giggles tumbled from Joan as she remembered poor Smitty's face, "That poor guy. He does have a talent for catching us at our worst."

"Or at our best!" Sherlock waggled his eyebrows eliciting a guffaw out of her and giving her renewed energy to climb the stairs to the second floor.


	2. Chapter 2

On the edge of the tub she perched, test in hand, staring at the small plus sign. He stood stock still in front of her. She raised her eyes to his. Joan couldn't decipher the look she found there. Sherlock seemed entranced, his eyes wide and intent upon her. He reached down, his fingers slowly encircled her wrist and brought her up to him. His lips met her forehead and lingered there.

She took a breath. A million questions raced through her mind. "What do you think?" Joan whispered.

Sherlock tenderly cupped her face, gently rubbing his thumb on her cheek. "How about we call him Smitty?" He slightly cocked his head in query and broke into a lop-sided smile.

"Sherlock!" She tried to sound indignant but she too smiled. She had her answer. "We will do no such thing. Poor child is going to have enough problems with us for parents."

"I think we will make spectacular parents," he said earnestly as he wove his arms around her.

Joan still held the test in one hand but managed to settle into his embrace and enjoy the moment. "There's a lot we need to discuss. ... How about, for now, though, we keep this to just ourselves?"

"As you wish... " came his answer. A content sigh escaped her lips. Making him watch The Princess Bride had been a good thing.

Their lives changed immediately, in small ways and large.

Joan decided to curb her caffeine intake, limiting herself to a cup of tea a day. Sherlock was surprisingly supportive and cut his caffeine consumption to match hers. The withdrawal symptoms were nasty: severe headaches, lethargy, snippiness, and at one point out and out aggression.

He strode into the kitchen holding her grande Starbuck's cup high out of her reach. She followed on his heels.

"I'm a doctor, Sherlock. I know how much caffeine I can have before it affects the baby. Now give it back!"

"You, Watson, are a hormone-addled, caffeine addicted, pregnant woman and I will not let you slurp this sludge." He poured her mocha frap into the sink.

Joan leapt and tried to stop him but her stature worked against her. "God! You are such an idiot!"

"It's alright, Watson. It's alright. This will be eminently tastier and better for you." He naively extended a lentil and couscous salad in her direction.

A minute or so later, as he attempted, in vain, to pick and wipe lentils and couscous from his jacket, Sherlock made a mental note: referring to her as hormone-addled may have been a touch too strong. In the future a less direct approach might prove more beneficial.

Perhaps an apology was in order he thought as he took off his jacket. She must be feeling some remorse for her actions. Sherlock made his way upstairs.

She sat crumpled, doubled over on herself, a few steps up from the first floor landing. He saw her and panicked, rushing up to reach her.

"Joan!"

The anguish in his voice and the use of her name, something he only did in moments of intense intimacy, startled Joan upright. "Sherlock! What's wrong?" Her face was blotchy and tear stained.

He was kneeling in front of her before she finished her last word, assessing her, taking in her physical condition. "Are you alright?" He pushed her hair from her face. "You aren't hurt?" He peered into her teary eyes with a fearful look.

"No, no," she lightly touched his arm. "I'm fine, I'm sorry ... I'm a mess. I can't ..." Tears flowed again and she bent forward into his shoulder and cried. "I'm too old for this Sherlock. I'm scared. I can't do this."

He smoothed her hair and tried to reassure her, "It's okay, it's okay. We can do this... We can ..."

She took a big gulp of air and tried to collect herself, wiping the tears from her face as she sat back and nodded, "I know ... I know, this is just a byproduct of the fluctuations of hormones and changes my body is going through ..." She stopped, took another deep breath and gave him a tight lipped smile. "See, I really do have medical training, I know these things ..." She was trying to lighten both their moods.

Sherlock still looked concerned, "You do want ... I mean, this is something you want as well?"

She leaned her forehead into his, "Yes, yes, yes ... This is just a momentary panic, that's all ..."

He exhaled slowly, beginning to calm himself, "I think seeing you like that took a couple years off my life." His voice was barely audible.

They sat for a minute collecting themselves.

He stood and helped her get up. "Come on then! Let's go get you a small one of those mocha whats-its ... "

"Okay. And maybe something with a little protein ..." Standing on the riser above him brought her to eye level with him. "You need to change your shirt though. You've got a stain ... Looks like lentils ..." Joan gave him an unapologetic look and walked past him down the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

"No. I am not staying. I'm going with you." She was adamant.

"But Watson, there is no need for your presence. Between the morning sickness and the exhaustion you've been experiencing ..."

She glared at him.

"Alright. Alright. Suit yourself." Sherlock was learning to pick his battles. He knew this argument would do more harm than good and caved.

The precinct was a hive of activity. Sherlock and Joan were there for a meeting called by Gregson. They were walking briskly in that direction when Joan felt the first wave. She slowed her pace and he adjusted his gate to hers.

"Sherlock, I'm going to be sick." Joan stopped and looked for the nearest restroom. Her hand rose to her mouth and he went into action guiding her towards the nearest bathroom - the men's room. He pushed in ahead of her ready to clear the way but the facilities were empty. Joan made a beeline for the nearest stall and Sherlock followed. Her nausea was common enough for them to have developed a routine - he stood by her, held her hair out of harms way and when she was finished, provided wet towelettes and/or tissues as necessary. Sherlock felt a certain amount of guilt, feeling he had done this to her and it was his duty to make the process of maternity as easy as possible for her. Plus he couldn't bear to see her unhappy or in pain.

"That's it ... You'll be okay... " he murmured.

"Uh, Sherlock ... I'm sorry ... This is disgusting ..."

"Not at all Watson, we've seen and done much worse ..."

It was then that Sherlock heard the sound of shuffling feet outside their stall. He had been so engrossed in helping Watson, he had not heard anyone come in.

He decided a bold offense was better than waiting for whoever it was to leave. Sherlock opened the stall door and met the interloper. Marcus Bell stood there expressionless staring at him and then behind him at Joan who stood wiping her face and hands with the moist towelette Sherlock had provided.

"Everything okay?" Marcus asked really not sure that he wanted to hear the answer.

"Detective Bell!" Sherlock's greeting was overly friendly. "Yes, yes. Everything's fine. Watson here experienced sudden nausea and we ducked in to the nearest restroom." He nervously rocked heel to toe while Watson flushed. Bell continued to stare at them trying to decide if he believed them.

"Sorry for the inconvenience, Marcus. Breakfast didn't sit well ..." Her voice faded away and she stepped past Sherlock and Bell to the sink.

They walked out of the restroom as quickly as possible before Marcus started asking questions. Finding a corner, she leaned against the wall for a second composing herself.

"That was close." Joan whispered at Sherlock who stood in front of her. "When you opened the door I fully expected Smitty to be there."

He gave her an amused look, "It would be fitting though that Smitty find out first about the baby, don't you think?"

While he was talking, he became aware of her tugging on his jacket sleeve and looking over his shoulder. Sherlock had been so thrown off by the morning's events, he once again failed to notice someone had come up behind him.

"Figures," said the now familiar voice. "It was only a matter of time with the way you two have been behaving." Sherlock turned his head and looked over his shoulder to find Smitty grinning. "Congratulations."

Joan and Sherlock demurely thanked him. Joan cleared her throat, "We haven't told anyone yet and ..."

"Oh don't worry. All your secrets are safe ..." He reassured them. "I've only told my partner, John, about your uhm, adventures. He will hoot when I tell him this."

Both Sherlock and Joan panicked. "Your partner? You told your partner?" they hissed.

Smitty saw their mistake, "No, no, no - not work partner; life partner, John. Anyway, Gregson is starting the meeting, he asked me to round people up." He jerked his head in the direction of the meeting room for them to follow him and walked ahead.

Sherlock muttered under his breath, "I'm not much for religion Watson, but if the child is christened, I think Smitty would make an admirable godfather."

"I'm beginning to agree," she nodded and they followed after Smitty towards the meeting.


	4. Chapter 4

The mid-afternoon of an early October day found Joan observing Sherlock at work on his laptop. She watched the pale patches of fluorescent blues and whites dance across his face; his eyes intent on his work. She waited for the right moment to speak.

"Out with it, Watson." His eyes never left the screen.

Turning her focus away from him, she stared blindly at the wall of locks in front of Sherlock. "I think it's time. We need to tell my mom," Joan said with little excitement. She was beginning to develop a little bump and her body shape was changing. Her mom would soon notice.

He clicked save, carefully closed the laptop and turned towards her. "We?" Sherlock tilted his head in emphasis, "... Really, Watson, I don't think I should participate in the announcement. This is a moment that should be shared between a mother and daughter. I wouldn't dream of intruding." He looked at her with his best, "I only have your interest at heart" face but saw she was not buying it. He continued, "I think the proper place for a father-to-be would be at a safe distance ... like say New Jersey. I hear Trenton is lovely this time of year."

Joan suppressed a smile, walked over to the table and stood over him. "No. You are not slithering out of this. This is 'our' child, we announce the news together."

"Our child, yes, but 'your' mother. I don't know that she'll be very happy with me once we share the news." He flipped open the laptop, and found his place within the document. "Your mum can be just the slightest bit intimidating and I do not wish to be the subject of her wrath," Sherlock nervously scrunched his shoulders, stretched his neck to side to side and pretended to resume his work.

"Believe me, my mom will be deliriously happy with the news and with you. She's been nagging me about grandchildren since I graduated med school."

"Hmm." He looked quickly up at her. "You don't think she'd expect us to marry, do you?"

"That I don't know. She might." Joan moved beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder as she examined the report he was finishing.

Another thought occurred to Sherlock. He moved his head so that his chin rubbed lightly on Watson's hand, before resting it there and raising his eyes to meet hers. His voice dropped the defensive edge it had carried, "Do you? ... Want to get married?"

"Are you offering?" her voice too now dropped to an intimate tone. The question surprised her. Sherlock had made known his thoughts on marriage to any and all who would listen many a time.

With his eyes intent on hers, he answered, "If that is what you wish..."

"I don't." She squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "We aren't going to change who we are for this child. Besides, marriage is just a formality." His commitment to her and their baby was far deeper than any legal paper could provide.

The look on his face was one of relief and adoration, quickly suffused by desire. He closed the laptop once again, stood, took a step or two away from her, and angled his torso back to address her. "Watson, do you have a moment? Would you be available to join me ... upstairs ...," his voice was low and hushed; he extended his hand.

There was nothing Joan wanted more at that moment than to take his hand but she hesitated; she checked her watch. "I think we have a few minutes before she gets here."

Sherlock looked at her in utter disbelief. The realization that Mrs. Watson's arrival was imminent washed over him like ice water. "Now? Your mother is coming here, now?"

She nodded. "I invited her over for tea."

Crestfallen, a now slump-shouldered Sherlock exhaled slowly and resigned himself to the situation. "No wonder you've been stacking books and fluffing pillows. I thought you were nesting ... Suppose I had said no, let's not tell her yet?"

"Then we would have had tea and gossiped about my cousins." She made her way over to him. "We have a little time. She shouldn't be here for another half hour or so, if you want to ... go upstairs." Her hands made their way up his chest and around his neck. Sherlock immediately forgot about Mary Watson. His hands found her hips and held on tight while his mouth charted an exploratory course up her neck towards her waiting lips.

A loud knock at the door made them both jump. Sherlock looked down and sighed, "Your mother's maiden name wasn't Smitty by any chance?"

Joan smiled at him, straightened his collar and pulled her blouse back into place, "I'm sorry. Come on, we can do this."

"Why don't you answer the door, and I'll go start tea?" Sherlock didn't wait for her response and aimed himself towards the stairs.

"Coward!" she called out after him as she watched him descend.

"Yup," he answered as he disappeared from sight.

Joan opened the door to find her mom standing there with a Tupperware container. Without asking, she knew its contents: freshly baked cookies - oatmeal raisin for Sherlock and snicker doodles for her. Mary Watson never arrived empty-handed.

"Hi, mom, come on in."

"I'm a little early. The traffic was light." She handed her coat and container to her daughter, "You're looking ... well."

Joan smiled nervously and changed the subject, "Sherlock's downstairs in the kitchen. Shall we?"

"Lead the way." She walked behind Joan all the way to the kitchen.

Sherlock stood at the counter putting cups and saucers on a tray. "Ah, you came down... How are you, Mrs. Watson?" He strained a smile and looked at Watson for support.

Mary Watson stared at him and then her daughter and then back at Sherlock. "Hmm, I'm fine, Sherlock, but perhaps you should just start calling me grandma."

Sherlock and Joan stood a second in shock and then spoke simultaneously. "Mom?" "You told her?" "What? ..." "No! I don't know how she..."

Mary beamed, happy at the news and at throwing the great detectives for a loop. She rushed Joan, embracing her and extending an arm to drag a still dazed Sherlock into the celebration.

Mary and Joan wiped tears from their eyes. Sherlock not familiar with this level of familial love stood still, mouth slightly open trying to process the emotions.

Mary moved to the table and motioned for them to sit. "Come on, sit and tell me. How far along are you? Is it a boy? A girl? When are you due?"

A still confused and relieved Joan and Sherlock sat side by side. "How could you possibly have known, mom?"

"You got your smarts from your father but your observational skills came from me." Mrs. Watson was pleased to show off her talent. "Last time we had lunch you had decaf. You, decaf, for goodness sakes. Its written on your face, your body, the way you're walking. The care you are taking in the simplest of decisions. I'm your mother, I notice things. It wasn't too difficult to connect the dots." Mary looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock was impressed. He may have trained her but Joan's gift was an inherited one. "Yes, but how did you conclude I was the, uhm ... the child's father?" He shifted in his chair trying to look comfortable.

Mary looked at him in disbelief, "Please. Huh! You two. How could it be anyone other than you? Sherlock, the way you look at her, like there's no one else in the world." She turned her gaze to her daughter, "and the way she just glows when she talks about you. I've never seen her like this with anyone else." They both sat awkward and embarrassed at someone else's assessment of their relationship.

"So you're okay with this? With me?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course! Don't be silly. Now tell me ... When are you due?"

As Joan and her mom talked, he rose to get the tea. Sherlock felt the warm contentment of acceptance. Emotions he had no name for were drifting through him. Belonging to a family that cared for one another would take some getting used to.


	5. Chapter 5

White paper bag in hand, Sherlock strode in through the front door of the brownstone. This Sunday morning Watson had risen with a craving for lox and bagels and so out he had gone to procure said sustenance for the mother of his child to be. He was very much enjoying taking care of her. The chime on his phone announced an email. As he walked, he swiped, clicked, opened and read its contents. His hand shook and clenched around the phone, "Bloody bastard!" he hissed.

"Watson!" He yelled, his voice loud enough to rattle the hives on the roof. "Watson! Do not open the email from my father!" His eyes scoured the first floor and not finding her, Sherlock called out her name again and lunged down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Joan stood by the refrigerator, her eyes on her phone, her face registering disgust. She looked up as he rushed in and took a few steps toward him.

Out of breath and angry, Sherlock couldn't help but wince at her pained expression.

"Oh my god! Your father! He's such, such a ..."

"Go ahead Watson, call him whatever name you'd like. Nothing will come close to describing the combination of filth and monstrosity that slimey cretin that I'm genetically bound to, truly is."

She read the email out loud, her voice strong in its anger:

"I have been informed by extremely reliable sources that my son has followed in the grand Holmes' family tradition of impregnating the help. Please be aware that your mongrel shall not inherit one pence from my estate. I am willing to extend to you a one time offer of £300,000 to abort the pregnancy and permanently remove yourself from my son's life. Be so kind as to reply within ten days' time to my secretary with proof of termination and departure. She will then take the necessary steps to distribute the agreed upon sum." ~M. Holmes

Joan looked up to Sherlock searching for an explanation.

"He forwarded me a copy of that message to let me know he had 'the situation in hand.'" Sherlock was vibrating with anger. "I swear to you Watson, I will not let that megalomaniac monster ever come within a mile of you or the baby." His hands punctuated every word and his face contorted in an effort to maintain control. His father still had the ability to wound him, to belittle his happiness. And now he was afraid the man had done the same to Watson and their child.

Watching the reaction of Sherlock to his father's words, the pain, visceral and raw, that they caused him, hurt Joan more than anything the senior Holmes had said in his email. Empathy took her rage as she thought about what living with and growing up around this man must have been like for Sherlock.

"It's alright, it's alright ..." She extended her hand and placed it on his arm.

"No. It is not alright. He will not intrude in this way. I will not permit him to insult and threaten my fa ... " he stopped and blinked as the words formed on his lips " ... my family." The word floated between them and dispelled all other thoughts and emotions. They were a family. The three of them existed as a separate unit apart from the world. Family.

The anger dropped from his face, muscles relaxed as he stared at Joan. The beginnings of a smile twitched on her lips. She moved forward and lifted her face, "Your family ... thanks you." Joan kissed his cheek tenderly, lingering. Finding her lips with his, he responded with a gentle nuzzle and soft kiss.

Sherlock looked down in embarrassment at the tears that might slip at any moment and became aware of the bag he still clutched in his hand. In an effort to bring himself under control, he exhaled and gave it a little shake. "You must be starving. Here ..." He placed the bag in her hand. "I'll start tea."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Sherlock sat at the table with his head bent, fingers nervously tracing the case of his phone, tea cup steaming in front of him. He looked up in time to catch Joan taking a hungry bite of her well-topped bagel, her eyes closing in enjoyment and had to smile.

"You're not upset?" he needed to know she truly was not hurt by his father's message.

Joan stopped and took a sip from her tea cup, taking a moment before she answered. "Yes, it bothers me. Rather than welcome a grandchild, he chose to alienate and inflict pain." She found his eyes and forced him to look at her. "In a way, I'm glad for this. Now that I know he wants nothing to do with the baby, I'm relieved." Sherlock looked at her and nodded in quiet agreement.

Joan leaned over and touched his hand. "... I think it best to ignore the email. Don't answer it. It will only escalate. I don't want you upset by all of this."

"Me?" Sherlock gazed at her incredulously. "It's not me I'm worried about."

She pursed her lips at him, "Please ... I'm creating a new human being, from scratch, while I have my tea. I'm much stronger than you think." Joan picked up another bagel.

Sherlock couldn't help but grin. "Alright, Dr. Frankenstein, you win."

Joan changed the subject, "So what is the story behind the Holmes' family tradition your father mentioned?"

Sherlock sat back in his chair and sighed. "It's a dig at me ... and my mother." Joan stopped. He had never talked about his mother.

He wiped his face with both hands and moved forward in his chair, arms on table, staring at an invisible spot before him. "I suppose you need to know this ... My mother was one of Mycroft's governesses, a very bright, lovely girl from what I've been told. My lecherous old dad took a shine to her and well, nine months later, I came into the world. Mycroft's mum was obviously highly displeased when she discovered the truth and she left my father. He made sure to keep things quiet. He paid Mycroft's mother an enormous sum for her to disappear but leave Mycroft in his custody. To her credit, and against father's wishes, she has stayed in contact with Mycroft all these years." Sherlock stopped. She could see him fortifying himself in order to go on.

"I was recognized as his own but he never married my mother. He kept her on as my nanny for a few years until his fancy turned to someone else. She had no money or influence of any sort so she stayed, I suppose for my sake. When I was about four, he "fired" her. Paid her a huge amount, had her sign over any parental rights she might have had and forced her to leave."

Joan involuntarily gasped, "That poor woman. It must have been devastating for both of you."

"Frankly, I don't remember. I have vague images and snippets of conversations but no concrete memories. And I'm not sure how devastated the woman was, she never attempted to contact me ..."

"Have you ever looked for her?"

"No. She left me. Has never made an effort to ..." She could see his long submerged pain resurfacing. "Obviously she has no interest in me, so ..." his voice was just a whisper.

They sat in silence. Their hands had found each other while he talked and they were now clasped tightly.

Sherlock looked at her with a grimace that passed for a smile. Bravado took over as he suddenly stood and picked up the plates, "Ancient history, Watson. We have things to take care of in the present."

Joan decided not to press him any further. They would revisit this another time when they'd both had time to process. She changed the subject again, much to his relief.

"I think its time we told the NYPD we are in a family way."


	6. Chapter 6

"Ms. Watson! Mr. Holmes! Hi!" Smitty spotted Joan and Sherlock entering the station.

"Hey, Smitty" Joan lowered her voice slightly as they approached him, "You know I think after everything we've uhm, been through, you can call us Joan and Sherlock." Sherlock nodded his head in agreement and Smitty beamed.

"Okay ... Joan. I brought in some of my Grandma Trudy's pumpkin strudel. If you're over your ..." It was Smitty's turn to lower his voice "...you know uh... morning discomfort, I'd love for you to try some."

Joan was all smiles at the thought of homemade strudel. So much so that it made Smitty and Sherlock smile just looking at her.

"Why don't you go with Smitty while I find the captain, hmm?"

"Okay, I'll have a little taste and be right back." She followed Smitty.

Sherlock spotted Gregson at Bell's desk. He took a deep breath to fortify himself and approached them.

"Captain, Detective," he greeted them. "As soon as Watson makes her way back here, do you think we might have a word with you, in private?" Sherlock looked nervous and that worried Gregson.

"And Marcus too." Sherlock quickly added.

Bell looked up from his desk at Gregson. This couldn't be good.

Joan walked up with a napkin full of strudel. "Sherlock, this is so good. Here I brought you a piece." Sherlock took a big bite of the pastry, and chewed happily, leaving the rest for Joan to finish.

Bell and Gregson once more exchanged nervous looks. Something was not right here but they couldn't put their finger on exactly what it was that felt off.

They all stepped into Gregson's office and closed the door. Gregson sat and waited. Sherlock looked at Watson, lifting his eyebrows. She shook her head ever so slightly and answered "no" to his nonverbal question.

Sherlock took a breath, apparently he was going to have the honour. "We thought it courteous to inform you that Watson is ... is with child."

Silence met his announcement. Gregson and Bell were not sure how to react. Both looked to Joan for a clue. She smiled to assure them that this was a good thing.

That's all Gregson needed. He was up and out of his chair, stepping forward to congratulate Joan. He gave her a fatherly hug. Bell just smiled from ear to ear an waited his turn to congratulate her.

"How far along are you?" "When are you due?" The captain was full of questions. "If you need any advice, any advice at all, feel free to call Cheryl ..."

"How are you feeling?" "Are you going to continue working after the baby is born?" Bell had his own set of questions. "Are you going to let Holmes near the baby?" Gregson and Bell chuckled. "You never know ...He might be a good sitter."

Joan was quickly fed up by the tone of the comments but more so by how Sherlock had been completely ignored, excluded from the group. "Pregnancy is not a disease. I intend to work same as I ever have. And as for Sherlock, I trust him to take care of his child just as well as I can." Sherlock looked up and smiled at her. Gregson and Bell looked stunned.

"I'm sorry, Holmes ... I just never uh ... Congratulations." Gregson, followed by Marcus, extended their hands to Sherlock.

Joan crossed the room to where Sherlock was standing, leaned in and whispered something in his ear. He listened and looked amused, "Gentleman, we hate to announce and run but it seems we have accepted a dinner invitation with Smitty and Grandma Trudy, so if you'll excuse us. We need to run some errands prior to that engagement. Thank you for your well wishes." Watson took his hand as they made they're way out of the office.

Bell looked at Gregson. "Smitty!" The captain looked blankly at him. Bell repeated, "Smitty! Remember? A few months back when he kept insisting he had seen Joan and Holmes ... together ... you remember? You sent him to get his eyes checked?"

"Oh good lord!" was all that Gregson said and then they both fell into silence watching Joan and Sherlock stop and talk to Smitty on the way out of the station.


	7. Chapter 7

Being an older expectant mother and a doctor, Joan insisted on an amnio. The test came back with no problems of any sort detected. The results also told them they were having a boy. Naming the child now became an issue. Each made a list of potential names and shared it with other

Sherlock's list of names for offspring

• Abernarhy -  
Joan: I think you misspelled that.  
Sherlock: It's the British spelling.

• Aloysius -  
Joan: No.  
Sherlock: Why?  
Joan: Just no ... Besides it rhymes with delicious.

• Bartleby -  
Joan: Dickens much?  
Sherlock: Actually, that's Melville. But hmmm, maybe Dickens, Dickens Holmes ... (Icy stare from Joan)

• Gardiner -  
Joan: Gardiner Holmes?  
Sherlock: I'll take that as a no.

• Stanley -  
Joan: No. The "flat" references will be annoying to the child  
Sherlock: huh?

• Gregson -  
Joan: Way to suck up ...  
Sherlock: Better than "Bell"  
Joan: I don't know, I kind of like Bell  
Sherlock: Hmph ... Yes. I know you do ..

• Romulus -  
Joan: Not naming our child after a co... a rooster.

• Jamie -  
Joan: WHAT! Sherlock Holmes that is not funny on any level. That's it! We are through with your list. (She tears his list to pieces.)  
Sherlock: Fine, lets see your list.

Joan's list of potential names for our son  
• Marcus -  
Sherlock: Again with Marcus! Perhaps you'd rather be doing this with him...  
Joan: You are overreacting.

• John -  
Sherlock: Boring - no offense to your stepdad.  
Joan: None taken.

• Marian -  
Sherlock: You do know the child's a boy right?  
Joan: It was good enough for John Wayne ... Plus it's a Watson family name.  
Sherlock: Nope.

• Andrew -  
Sherlock: NO.

• Horatio -  
Sherlock: You've got to be kidding, Horatio Holmes? No.

• Alistair -  
Sherlock: Alistair ... (Sherlock stopped and looked at Joan)  
Joan: Alistair (she nodded her head at him).

Sherlock looked at her, "Watson."

"What?"

"Watson." He repeated.

She looked confused.

"Let's name the boy Alistair Watson Holmes..."

Joan smiled. "Alistair Watson Holmes. It does have a nice ring to it."


	8. Chapter 8

This pregnancy was perhaps the best and most thoroughly monitored in the history of mankind. Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, but Sherlock had gotten progressively more obsessed as the months went by. She finally had to put her foot down and limit him to one half hour per day to question, measure, examine, weigh, listen and feel. The "listen and feel" was actually rather pleasurable; she allowed him all the time he wanted for that. It was their down time, when he would place his hand on her growing midsection and wait for the baby to move. Sherlock would sometimes rest his head on her and listen, sometimes he'd recite to their boy - excerpts from Donne, Chaucer, Shakespeare, or passages from Dahl and Hawking. On one occasion, she fell asleep, only to wake and find him softly humming an ancient Celtic lullaby.

Joan caught a cold mid-seventh month. A run of the mill cold with fever but it sent Sherlock into a tailspin. They both agreed any kind of medication would only be used as a last resort. He researched home remedies and spent his time shopping for organic produce, herbs for poultices and infusions, setting up a humidifying system, and insisting she stay in bed at least until the fever broke. Joan found it rather endearing at first but quickly grew tired. He was running himself ragged trying to take care of her and working cases. She did not need taking care of.

Sherlock came in with a tray around noon. "Homemade chicken soup with farm fresh vegetables, whole grain bread I baked this morning and just squeezed orange juice," he announced proudly. She took the tray and before she had a chance to say thank you found a thermometer stuck in her mouth.

Joan plucked the thermometer out of her mouth, "I do not have a fever." He started to protest and was interrupted by her command, "I've had enough of this. Get in bed Sherlock."

"I'm not sure you're up to physical exertions yet and I have too many things needing to be done. Perhaps later in the afternoon we can..."

"Sherlock! I'm concerned about you. You're running yourself ragged. I want this child to know his father."

"Now you're just being dramatic Watson. I'm perfectly healthy. You are the one in need of ..."

She interrupted him again, "Please, it will make me feel better. "

He couldn't resist the look on her face. He did as she bid, and sat down next to her.

Sherlock now ordered her, "Eat."

She convinced him to share her meal. They ate and discussed the cases he was working on. Finishing the last of the orange juice, Joan set the tray aside. "Now we nap."

Sherlock smirked at her and moved to get up, "I don't nap."

Joan stopped him, placing one hand on his forearm and the other gently patting her round midsection, "Please. For us ...?"

Sherlock bristled, "I know what you're doing Watson. You can't control my behavior by using the baby and yourself to draw emotional ..."

"Oh! He's moving..." She moved her hand to where the baby had just kicked.

Sherlock stopped and moved closer to her, placing his hand where she indicated and feeling their child kick. "He's strong," he whispered and she nodded her agreement. Joan leaned back as he gently placed his head on her abdomen and listened. She smoothed his hair and caressed his neck. All three were soon fast asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

"What say we start making our way to the hospital, hmm?" He failed in his attempt to sound nonchalant.

Joan, pushing down her own stirrings of panic, tried to reassure him with a small smile. "We have time. Let me go change first."

Sherlock flicked his eyes quickly over her from top to toe several times before convincing himself she was indeed in no current pain.

"I'll go with you." Sherlock started to take her by the elbow to assist her rising from the chair, but she stopped him. "I'm fine. Why don't you call a taxi while you wait."

"I can do both. I'm quite the multi-tasker." She pinned him with a look. He chose not to argue with her and stepped aside. Joan rose and headed for the stairs while Sherlock fished out the phone from his coat pocket and called for a cab.

While they waited for the taxi, Joan had two small contractions; small but still painful enough to stop her in mid-step and propel Sherlock to her side for support. She clung to his arm for a second watching the pained expression on his face. This delivery was going to hurt Sherlock more than it would her, she thought.

A horn beeped outside. He picked up the overnight bag and rushed her out the house. Settling Joan into the backseat, Sherlock explained their circumstance to the driver and took his place beside her.

"Did you call my mom?"

"Of course. Mary is meeting us there."

"Goo ...OOOoow... " the word morphed into such a loud expression of severe pain that it caused both men in the cab to jump and turn towards her.

"Breathe, breathe ..." The words came automatically from Sherlock's lips; the classes had been of some use.

Her reaction was to scowl at him, "Of course I'm breathing. Do you thing I'm holding my breath? I know what I ...aaayyyyeeeeeeeee." Another contraction hit hard and fast. Joan clamped down on his arm with such force that he too suffered the contraction with her.

As the pain ebbed and she somewhat regained control of her breath, she managed to speak. "That was the second contraction in two minutes time. I think he's coming ..." Her face squenched in discomfort. "Now."

Sherlock experienced a momentary blackout from sheer panic, quickly recovered, and tried to calm his partner. "It's alright Watson. While I have never actually assisted in birth, I've read exhaustively on the subject and have a thorough understanding of..."

"Good!" She swung her body around so her head lay on the armrest. "Cause this child wants out right now."

"Cabbie!" Sherlock shouted at the driver. "Pullover and call for an ambulance at once, please."

The veteran driver looked over his shoulder, shook his head, double parked and called for assistance. This was going to get messy, he thought.

Sherlock stared blankly at his partner, at a loss as to how to proceed. Joan groaned and tried to exhale the pain away. At the sight of her in distress, everything he'd read came back to him. He took off his jacket, bunched it and placed it under the small of her back. "It's alright. Everything's under control." He whispered more for his sake than for hers. "I'll take care of you," he whispered. "What do I do next?"

"He's coming fast. Remove my underwear and see how far along I am." Her face contorted in pain.

The taxi driver decided it was time for him to step outside; he'd direct traffic around them. He did not want to witness what was to come.

Sherlock did as he was told and positioned himself between her legs. The head was crowning. Through the thumping of his heart in his ears he could hear her rhythmic breathing. "Good Watson. Excellent. When you're ready, perhaps a push, hmm?" Her elbows dug into the plastic seat cushion, trying to brace herself properly. A small contraction caught her off guard and she screamed. Sherlock grabbed hold of her legs and the cab door behind him opened.

"It's alright, sir. I'm a police officer. I've ..." Watson looked up and Sherlock turned.

"Oh good lord!" Smitty shook his head at the sight of Joan flat on her back and Sherlock between her legs. "Of course, it'd be you two!"

Relief washed over Watson and Sherlock. Smitty smiled and patted Sherlock on the shoulder, "Don't worry. I'm an old pro at this. Why don't you go around and support her back." Sherlock happily complied. Smitty turned his attention to Joan.

The wail of the arriving ambulance's siren was met and surpassed by the strong-lunged arrival of Alistair Watson Holmes into the world.


End file.
